


v. aegisheart

by foundCarcosa



Series: Spire-Crossed: A Fanfic/Fanmix Project [5]
Category: Fable (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-09
Updated: 2012-08-09
Packaged: 2017-11-11 19:23:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/482021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foundCarcosa/pseuds/foundCarcosa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[ accompanying song: "These Things" by Fuel ]</p><p>It is almost time. Garth revisits his former home, and the past, one last time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	v. aegisheart

**Author's Note:**

> But I’ve got this faith to blind me, and I’ve got these dreams we’ve shared;  
> And I’ve got this fear that dreams are all I have that’s left to me  
> These things,  
> All these things—  
> These things have I…

The wind whistles through the top of the Tower, but Garth doesn’t mind. The stairs are repaired, and that is the important part; perhaps sometime after he leaves it behind, the Brightwood Restoration Committee will have it fully restored before putting it back on the market.

It is, after all, a fine piece of real estate.

But it is no longer Garth’s. Not only did the Spire Guards leave their sulphurous scent on nearly every porous surface, the confrontation that transpired here is unforgettable. Ghosts would haunt him every time his eyes closed. The tower would tremble and creak with the weight of trapped energy. Nothing would be resolved. He would be a slave to yet another memory, trapped in an infinite loop. The tower must be relinquished, and all of the objects within it.

The time is coming, he knows — the time when the Hero of Skill and the Hero of Strength would be brought together with him, the Hero of Will, to make the Hero of Bowerstone unstoppable. The enemy is all-powerful, the formerly-tattered Spire—  
But that is wrong. The Spire is blameless, frightening as it may be. It is the man who rebuilds it, the man who fell prey to its drumming song, that is the enemy.

Garth unlatches and lifts the heavy wooden lid of the chest, waving absently at the dust he disturbs, and lifts out the first item.

_“Do you truly like that?”_

_Garth followed Lucien’s eye, down to the simple dun-coloured jacket he wore. It was sleeveless, edged in a darker brown, and stopped just above the waist. Fitted, somewhat. Several pockets. A fine garment, if he had to comment._

_“Is there something wrong with it, Lord Lucien?” He couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice._

_Lucien winced at the title, waving it away with a quick hand motion. “Garth, please. I’m only asking because… well, I… I have something for you. And I want to ensure you’ll like it, first. I don’t **want** to insult you, you know.”_

_The reproach in Lucien’s voice stilled Garth’s tongue from further commentary, and he watched with a slightly furrowed brow as Lucien rustled around in his parcels for one in particular, marked by the tailor’s lavender wrapping paper. He slipped this parcel into Garth’s hands at first, then seemed to reconsider and took it back._

_“Ah, wait. I have a better idea.” Quickly he whipped away the wrapping paper, much more impatiently than Garth would have, and shook out the garment — a coat in a vivid royal blue, edged with silver, short sleeves and large lapels, and tails. **Tails.**_

_Garth stared at it blankly, trying to appear as neutral as possible, but Lucien dropped his arms and sighed. The coat hung limply in his hands, the tails pooling around his feet. “You don’t like it.”_

_There was something like dejection in Lucien’s voice, something that made Garth flush in chagrin, and he shook his head quickly. “I didn’t say that. … Here.” He undid the buttons and shook off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor, and turned around so his back was to the other man. He lifted one arm and waited._

_Soon enough, the stiff serge met his skin. Lucien slipped one sleeve over the proffered arm, then the other over the opposite arm, and Garth rolled his shoulders to let the coat settle onto him. His hands felt clumsy and confused as they tugged at the lapels, smoothed over the flap pockets, fingered the buttons._

_Lucien tried, but he couldn’t hide the way his eyes shone when he looked Garth over. “I think it suits you. Really. Oh, please tell me—”_

_“Thank you.” Garth reached, found Lucien’s hand, squeezed briefly. He didn’t smile yet — he wouldn’t, not until later, when he unexpectedly catches his reflection in a corridor looking-glass — but that was all right. Lucien smiled brilliantly enough for the both of them._

Garth raises the still-stiff serge to his face, inhaling deeply. He smells the musky wood of the chest, the natural scent of the fabric, and just under all of that, the barest whiff of his own flesh, and the vaguest hint of firewood smoke and Lucien himself.

Something falls out of the coat when he unfolds it, and he snatches at it before it can hit the floor. Unfolding his hand reveals a filigree chain and a pendant — etched silver, round, the size of a coin, adorned with the symbol of a single rose.

_“You say the rose was the important thing?”_

_“Well, the Tower. But the rose… yes. That was important. Red rose garden, a dark tower, and… and sacrifice.”_

_“Yes.” Lucien sounded drowsy, but he was far from sleepy, even as he shifted closer to Garth and nuzzled the back of his neck with his nose. “Your land has strange tales. But I think I like this one.”_

_“You wouldn’t if you read it,” Garth replied dryly, leaning back so he could curl an arm around Lucien and draw him into an embrace, using his free hand to draw the sheet around them. “It’s a harrowing tale.”_

_“Oh, I’m sure.” Muffled, because he was nuzzling into Garth’s collarbone now. “But it sounds rather romantic, as well. The rose sings. It makes people feel… alive. Am I getting this right?”_

_“Mostly.”_

_“It has an adversary—”_

_“Adversaries.”_

_“People want to destroy it. Sap its vitality. Trample it.”_

_“Putting it simply. It’s mostly the Tower—”_

_“You are my gunslinger.” Lucien smiled slightly, a twitch of his pale lips, and then kissed him. There was no more talking after that._

“But Albion's Tower is broken. Lucien…” _Had been something worth protecting._ Garth closes his fingers around the pendant and squeezes until its edges dig into his palm. _And I let the Tower take him._

_That is not how the story was supposed to go._

Soon enough, the Tower of this world would fall, as it should, and so would…

Garth stands and slips the pendant over his head, tucking it under his shirt so it lay cool and light against his flesh. His Will lines hum as if in approval. The coat he shrugs on next, and it is not as awkward as that long-ago first time; his hands find the buttons easily, adjust the lapels, flick the tails back so they settle flush against him.

These things he would take with him, to be his armour. These things were love, and care, and light in darkness.

Lucien won't recognise them anymore, not the way he is now. And that was just as well.  
And maybe it is too much to hope, but perhaps with his last breath... that last burst of clarity that people called the 'great white light'... he would remember...


End file.
